


Let Me

by Agent_Pumpkin01



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Fanon Child, Gay Parents, Gay Sex, Husbands, M/M, Morning Sex, gay relationship, married au, they're so totally gay it hurts me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7529263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Pumpkin01/pseuds/Agent_Pumpkin01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Joe drinks one more Red Bull, he'll probably die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me

“Joe,” Sal says plainly, carrying a collection of cans in his arms. Seeing the load, Joe winces and focuses harder on the dinner he’s making. Their little girl hasn’t stopped crying for two hours and the man can see the affect it’s having on his husband, fretting and hurrying and rushing around as if she’s being stabbed and abducted rather than waiting impatiently on feeding time. Joe shifts a saucepan so that the handle is facing away from the walk-way before turning to Sal and looking apologetically.

“Sorry. I meant to throw those out, I did. I just– forgot.”

“It’s not that,” Sal replies, dumping the empty energy drink cans into the bin before turning to look at him with a softer expression than before. He hates how hard his lover is working; it isn’t that it’s misplaced, having a baby is tough to say the least, but that he himself misses him. The soft bump of his nose catches the fading light through the kitchen window, the slant of it casting a shadow over half of his face. “Hun, you need a break. How long has it been since you slept?”

He expects the reaction but it doesn’t provoke him any less. Gatto turns away stubbornly with a roll of his eyes, a plaintive ‘I got this’ forced past his lips before he promptly gets the salt and the coriander mixed up, almost dumping a huge load of the second into the stir-fry he’s seasoning. He corrects himself just in time, runs a hand through his hair and rushes over to the crying baby, trying to appease her.

“Please stop cryin’,” Joe moans, squashing her cheeks together. It doesn’t result in much - just a hideous-faced baby who continues to scream and squirm in her high-chair. She’s never been a problem baby (as if such a thing exists when they know no better) but, much like her fathers, she’s grouchy when she’s hungry. A strained sound akin to a fake sob passes the Joker’s lips. “Please, please, pleeease…”

Of course she doesn’t. In fact, she gets irritated with his hands on her and promptly begins hitting them with her stubby fists. He pulls away, looks at Sal hopelessly - as if he could burst into tears at any moment, mimic the baby who refuses to cooperate. Instead, he utters: “Our baby hates me.”

Vulcano-Gatto crosses the room at that, places his hands lightly on his face and moves to kiss his forehead. “You’re stressed out. Damn it, you’re tired and hungry, just like she is. She loves you - you know that.”

The syllables have the exhausted father sighing, reaching a hand up to lightly stroke against the familiar scruff of his partner’s beard. “Yeah, I know… I know…”

He feels a little stronger then. Dinner passes by without incident, Gatto feeding the baby twice - once before they eat and once afterwards for she’s demanding - before he sets about changing her and holding her until she dozes off. Sal takes care of the dishes before resting his chin on his shoulder and looking at the slumbering baby. Kissing Joe’s cheek, lingering, he jokingly remarks: “They’re so nice when they sleep.”

“Mm,” Joe agrees. He’d hoped that the copious amounts of caffeine he’d ingested by drinking all of that shit would keep him up long enough to watch her sleep late into the night, just to make sure there were no incidents, but the truth of the matter goes much differently. Sal takes her from his arms slowly, carefully, declaring quietly ‘let me take her to bed’ before ascending the stairs slowly. Joe rubs a palm over his face, feels exhaustion soaking in to the very marrow of his bones. He loves seeing his husband hold the baby, but just this once he’s snide, mumbling under his breath.. “Of course she’s quiet for you.”

He doesn’t recall much from the previous night, simply that he’d changed into pyjamas, brushed his teeth and washed his face and trawled into the bedroom with feet of lead, collapsing onto the bed as if his blood was as thick and heavy as motor oil. Sal had helped him crawl the rest of the way into bed, arranged his head on his chest as he fell asleep where he laid, gentle fingers brushing along his scalp, a tender kiss pressed to the top of his head before he’d fallen asleep himself.

The clock is checked. 6:12AM. Early, but it’s never too early for the baby to start crying. He should at least check on her, make sure she’s sleeping–

“Don’t you dare move,” Sal drawls quietly, eyes still shut, the rumble of his voice passing through his skull as lips move vaguely against his temple. Joe is almost stunned, but not really - his husband tends to be awake when he is, despite not being a morning person. “Leave the little shit. She’s fine.”

A husky laugh passes Joe’s lips, quiet and hushed as he leans further back into his lover and secures their hands together by lacing their fingers. A little gesture, a squeeze of the digits before he holds his hand regularly against the pudge of his stomach, as if attempting to sandwich the appendage between himself and the bed so that the man cannot leave. Like he ever would anyway.

“I’m serious!” Sal murmurs quietly, lips kissing the side of his head once more before his face dips into the soft skin of his partner’s neck. Lips pucker at random intervals, cover pieces of his flesh with delicate kisses. The sleep-slick moan that Gatto releases is music to his ears. “You like that?”

“Been at it for sixteen’a the twenty-five years we’ve known each other - I would hope ya know I’m a bitch for neck kisses,” Joe responds sassily. His husband laughs, kisses a little more fervently, tongue coming to trace down the fine tendons that accentuate his flesh; his original intention had been to tickle him, play with him a little bit before their day inevitably became stressful. Neither hold anything but adoration for their child but of course, it’s a royal pain having to give up their usually-fun schedule in favour of nappy-changing and building blocks. Still, it’s nothing they didn’t sign up for. “Mm… that’s nice…”

“Yeah…?” purrs Sal, moving hands up the front of his chest. The gentle thrum of his heartbeat keeps him grounded, the feel of nipples hardening beneath his shirt as he strokes at them making him chuckle. Joe squirms, grins unabashedly. “’Cause, I don’t wanna brag or anythin’ but you are my husband. I know what you like.”

“Granted, baby. Granted.”

Gatto angles his head, lets Sal peck at his lips before mischievously backing into him and grinding his rear against his front. The other holds him close, moves a hand to pull at his shirt until his shoulder pops out of it, an array of kisses being placed from the base of his neck to the tender muscle of his shoulder. Teeth lightly scrape against the flesh there before he moves to the juncture between them both and sinks his teeth into flesh. Gatto groans, rocks back against him, smiling with silent delight as he realises the man is hard.

“Think we can fit this in…?” Vulcano-Gatto questions, trailing a hand down Joe’s front slowly, palming at the growing excitement in his pyjama pants. Once again, the Joker tilts his head, pecks his lover’s lips.

“We’ll make time for it,” he replies heatedly, before raising a hand to pull down his pyjama pants. Of course, no underwear separates his flesh from Vulcano’s wandering hand and so fingers coil around his stiffening length with ease. His husband’s thick, throaty voice in his ear has him coaxed along just fine. “Mmm…”

“You wanna…?”

“Yeah…”

Sal shifts his hand to settle on Joe’s hip, straightens out his curled back somewhat so that his form can be meshed firmly against the other man’s, sighing softly in relief when it is. There’s something so magical about the touch - it’s been years and it’s still as if it’s the first time. A gruff sound escapes his mouth.

“You just relax, baby, let Sally here make you feel good…” he whispers, kissing the tip of the man’s ear before he slowly shifts forwards to push himself gradually inside of his lover. A low, fulfilled groan all the while signals Joe’s enjoyment as Sal eventually fully sheaths himself. “Mm, Joey… feels so good already.”

Joe agrees in the form of rocking hips. A leg arches to let one of his husband’s thread between it, one of their hands each coming to lace together, Sal’s arm over Gatto’s body as he reaches for it. Delicious friction is granted as he pulls out as far as his tip before sliding slowly back in. Both men moan quietly.

Vulcano-Gatto sets about setting a steady rhythm. Sometimes they go hard and fast, other times gentle and passionate, and sometimes they fall into a number of other tropes on the spectrum of sex, but morning sex has always been a favourite of his. Mostly because he has the chance to be dominant without actually having to exert the effort of being domineering. Joe pulls off the role so effortlessly, has him weak in the knees with a single murmured command in his ear, but he has to work harder at it. He blames his naturally friendly appearance.

Joe’s hand tightens around Sal’s. “Mm, yeah… gotta make it a good mornin’, right…?”

“Ha… you know it, sweetheart. Real good,” Sal whispers in reply, his hip’s leisurely pace having him moaning shallowly against the shell of Gatto’s ear, something that he appears to love endlessly. Hearing his lover’s voice so close provides him with endless excitement; even after all these years, when Sal whispers to him, he loses his mind. He’s lost it so many times just thinking about this man. “Oh, fuck, Joey…”

Fingers on his free hand creep up the expanse of flesh beneath Joe’s pyjama shirt, a forefinger and thumb delicately tweaking a nipple. Joe gasps, rearing his hips slightly harder into him, a hushed ‘yeahhh…’ dripping from his tongue like honey. He continues on, brushes pads of digits over his chest, smooths knuckles over nipples and rejoices at the feeling of his partner trembling lightly in his wake. There is something so beautiful, so completely fragile, about sex in the morning.

Quietly: “Mn– Sal… I’m gonna cum…”

The hand at his chest moves to tighten around his erection once more, pumping at a speed that matches his thrusting perfectly. Gatto begins to shake lightly, a hand reaching clumsily backwards to dig into the plush flesh of Sal’s rear. “Mmm… cum for me, baby. I want you to feel good…”

Joe doesn’t need to be told twice, a seething hiss escaping the confines of his throat. “Ah, yeahhh… fuuuck…” - and no sooner has he orgasmed, he feels an armada of stressful thoughts and responsibilities melt away, if only for the meantime. Right now, with Sal filling him just right, completing him in that beautifully simple way he always has, nothing but him matters. Hell, even when they’re not having sex, he’s next to all that matters. His horizons have broadened somewhat with the concept of a TV show to maintain, a marriage to fulfil, a baby to raise, but Sal remains the pinnacle of his existence. His reason.

“God– Joeyyy…” Lips meet the skin of his previously exposed shoulder as Sal loses the leverage he’d had over him (not that he’d ever needed it). Frenetic kisses are pressed all over the skin he can reach as he comes undone, orgasming deeply inside of his lover. Joe appears to enjoy it endlessly, almost catches a second wind of lust before exhaustion wins out. It’s not so much the encounter right then and there, rather an entire list of things that have since piled up and left him feeling heavier than a bag of bricks. “Mmm… sooo fuckin’ good, baby… mn, you’re the only one who can make me feel like this…”

Hoarsely: “I better be.”

Sal laughs, sound piercing the moment. Joe winces at the sudden volume in his ear but it doesn’t override his pleasure, a soft smile appearing on his face as he listens to his husband calm down again. “You really know how to season the mood, huh? Spice things up.”

“My jealousy ain’t hot, Sal. I don’t wanna think about other people makin’ ya happy. I’d rather ya be a miserable old fuck.”

The pair hold each other, laughing as quietly as they can lest they wake the baby. Sal is briefly surprised they’d been able to finish - part of him had been so sure it would end in frustration due to her interrupting Joe’s one moment of peace. He wouldn’t have blamed her, but he may have disliked her for just a second.

“Just for the record, you really are. Nobody else makes me feel the way you make me feel. Never will.”

“About that: when ya look at me, is it burnin’ rage ya feel, by any chance?”

“Be serious,” Sal lightly chastises, leaning up on an elbow, palm propping his face as his free forefinger comes to poke lightly against Joe’s nose. He sobers, a fragile ‘sorry’ puncturing the air inoffensively. “I love you, Joe. And you’re doin’ a great job with the whole baby thing. We both are. But you need to stop pushing yourself so much - you don’t have to do everything alone. We’re parents, yeah, but we’re also what we’ve always been: together.” A pause. “…so for fuck sake, let me help, you stubborn asshole.”

Joe smiles, overcome by the sweet integrity that shows through on Sal’s face despite the vulgarity. The man always knows how to make him feel better, even when he’s hell-bent on self-destruction on account of not feeling he’s doing enough to make a difference. Joe’s existence is very much based on external validation, as much as he protests that it isn’t, so naturally, having a baby that disagrees with everything he does, crying despite his chosen method, really has him fretting.

“All right, Shakespeare. Y’can go back to bein’ dead,” the Joker remarks wittily, smirking as Sal slightly slaps at his chest. Of course he doesn’t respond with the conventional ‘I love you too’, always has to challenge it. It’s part of what has Vulcano-Gatto head-over-heels for the man.

He’s about to retort playfully when the sound of crying pierces the air. Full-on howling at 7:03 in the morning does neither of them good, but just this once, both men smile. Joe moves to get up, naturally drawn to the sound of despair, wanting to rectify it. That is, until Sal gently presses his hand to his chest, pushes him to lay down once more.

“I’ll get it.”


End file.
